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| In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In the 60s and 70s the ‘grand’ masculine eurocentric visions dreamt up by the modernists were being challenged by an uprising of non-traditional collectives. A revolutionary spirit of resistance found groups experimenting with furniture design, music, installations and visual art. These methods were used to critique the architecture of the era and its position in a socio-political landscape of war, austerity and inequality.
During this time, a post-independence renaissance was unfolding in Khartoum Sudan. In the 60’s and 70’s, the rise of several modernist movements radically transformed the artistic scene, resulting in a flurry of dynamic creative and experimental outputs in literature, music, theatre, visual arts and architecture. Masjid at Nileen, (The 2 Niles mosque) is a landmark example of the era. The impressive and futuristic design of the mosque was a thesis project by Gamer Eldawla Eltahir, a student at the University of Khartoum.
1875
After Hong Kong was colonised by Britain in 1841, no government doctors were employed in the early years. People with mental illness were often deported. Europeans with mental illness were temporarily placed in Victoria Gaol, a prison, before being repatriated to their home countries for treatment. However, “Chinese lunatics” were chained in the dark and distressful cells of Tung Wah Hospital, known as the “Mad House”, without any treatment, waiting to be sent back to China. It was not until 1875 that the British colonial government established the first temporary “lunatic asylum” on Hollywood Road, Hong Kong Island (which later became the Police Married Quarters, now known as PMQ). Around 1880, it was relocated to a site which later became the Government Civil Hospital on the Hospital Road.
1884
The British colonial government established the European Lunatic Asylum.
1891
The Chinese Lunatic Asylum was opened at a lower site (currently the Eastern Street Methadone Clinic) to accommodate Chinese psychiatric patients.
1897
A German Lutheran missionary organisation, the Hildesheimer Blindenmission, sent Ms Martha Postler, a female missionary, to establish the “Tsau-kwong” to provide shelter for four Blind girls. Initially, it only accepted female Blind children and was known as the “Blind Girls’ Home”. Later, it was relocated to To Kwa Wan, Kowloon, at a new facility, which was completed in 1901, accommodating 50 Blind girls. In 1906, a new wing was added to house 20 more Blind girls. In 1913, the construction of the Ebenezer Home for Blind Girls’ permanent campus on Pok Fu Lam Road was completed. During World War I, girls in the Ebenezer Home moved to the Ming Sam School for the Blind in Guangzhou. In 1941, during World War II, the Pok Fu Lam facility was taken over by the Japanese occupation government, and the Blind girls were moved to Kwu Tung in Sheung Shui. Due to outbreaks of lung diseases, malaria, and other infectious diseases, many girls passed away, and only 18 girls survived after the war. In 1948, the Blind girls returned to the Pok Fu Lam facility. Later, the Ebenezer Home for Blind Girls changed its name to the Ebenezer School & Home for the Visually Impaired.
1906
The British colonial government passed the “Asylums Ordinance”. It was the first time that the detention and care of people with mental illness was formally legislated. The separate “asylums” for Westerners and Chinese were merged into the Victoria Mental Hospital, which was affiliated with the National Hospital. It had four male wards and one female ward, with a total of 84 beds. Treatment services were provided by a part-time general physician. The government had no plans to expand psychiatric services, as it considered many patients to be temporary residents of Hong Kong and believed that some could be sent to the John G. Kerr Refuge for the Insane in Fangcun, Guangzhou, for treatment. This transfer collaboration with the John G. Kerr Refuge for the Insane stopped in 1949 when the People’s Republic of China was established.
1933
Hong Kong residents Lee Luk-wah and Chan Lai-fong travelled to Yantai, China, to attend a teacher training programme at the Yantai School for the Deaf. In September 1935, with church support, they founded the Hong Kong School for the Deaf (Chun Tok School), the first special school for Deaf students in Hong Kong. During the Japanese occupation, the school was closed for seven years. It reopened in 1948 and continued operation until 2004, when it stopped admitting Deaf students and converted into a mainstream school. The school emphasised oral and lip-reading education, and sign language was strictly prohibited. If students were caught using sign language, teachers would write their names on a piece of paper, hang it around their necks with a rope, and make them stand in the hallway as punishment. Apart from the Chun Tok School, there were three other Deaf schools, all founded by foreign missionaries: Kai Shing School, Caritas Magdalene School and the Lutheran School for the Deaf. All of these Deaf schools focused on oral education, with only the Lutheran School for the Deaf incorporating a small amount of sign language.
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